


Help

by zmay0309 (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, bad nights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:22:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5453198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/zmay0309
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your arms are unbearably heavy, and there’s a pressure beneath your skin begging to be released. The itch cries out for the comfort of a blade drawing line after line of broken skin and tissue with red flowing freely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help

Your name is DAVE STRIDER. Your age is IRRELEVANT, because right now it is 11:36 AT NIGHT and you are STRUGGLING.

Your arms are unbearably heavy, and there’s a pressure beneath your skin begging to be released. The itch cries out for the comfort of a blade drawing line after line of broken skin and tissue with red flowing freely.

But you can’t. You can’t, you can’t.

You can’t, because you promised him.

You promised him you would talk to him first, that you would ask for help.

Help is the last thing you want… but maybe it’s the one thing you need.

You grab blindly for your phone, letting the word slip through your fingertips.

\--turntechGodhead[TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist[CG] at 23:37:28--  
TG: help

You fumble slightly before closing the window.

\--turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist[CG] at 23:37:42--

You curl up into a ball and await your saviour.

Barely five minutes later, you hear the door slam open, then shut, and footsteps race down the hallway to your room. He must have ran up the stairs. Sure enough, when he opens your door he’s both panting and red in the face, though panicking openly.

His eyes sweep the room quickly before landing on you, curled up in fetal position and face tear-streaked. He visibly relaxes when he realizes you aren’t bleeding out on your comforter, a fraction of the tension draining from his shoulders.

He strides - hah, puns - across the room to you, barely pausing to lie next to you before pulling you into his arms.

He draws you in, and he smells like snickerdoodles and burning firewood. He smells like a home you yearn to have, and you sob into his chest because his arms are your home.

The world is very, very dark and you are so, so sad and you are drowning but he is your lighthouse waiting on the shore, welcoming you back to dry land.

You are not okay, but you could be, with his help.


End file.
